


Hold Him Softly

by Protecttonystark



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Protecttonystark/pseuds/Protecttonystark
Summary: ' Mission debriefs tend to be unpleasant at the best of times. This one is particularly unpleasant considering that Steve and Tony are fighting, again. And from the looks of it, it’s getting ready to be nasty. Again. Clint sighs, chin in one hand as the fingers on his other tap restless patterns against the table. He’s trying not to interfere, partly because he legitimately doesn’t want to be put in the middle right now, and partly because he doesn’t want to make things worse. '
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 177
Collections: Assassin Twins + Tony, Ultimate Favorites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! I will always and forever be salty about how canon turned out--like, for example, the raging assholes they made Clint and Steve--so I decided fuck it. Set shortly after Avengers, and will not be canon compliant with pretty much anything that comes after. Tags will be updated as needed. Enjoy!

Mission debriefs tend to be unpleasant at the best of times. This one is particularly unpleasant considering that Steve and Tony are fighting, again. And from the looks of it, it’s getting ready to be nasty. Again. Clint sighs, chin in one hand as the fingers on his other tap restless patterns against the table. He’s trying not to interfere, partly because he legitimately doesn’t want to be put in the middle right now, and partly because he doesn’t want to make things _worse_. Tony typically doesn’t react well to other people’s attempts to help him out, touchy about anything that even remotely resembles pity, and Steve--as much as he tries to deny it--has just as bad of a temper as Tony does, and he doesn’t always appreciate being interrupted.

The problem is, Steve’s got Tony backed into a corner right now, as he so often does when they argue. And Clint knows Steve doesn’t mean to, he knows Steve doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, and he _knows_ that Steve’s just yelling because post-fight adrenaline is teaming up with the heart stopping worry of having to watch Tony jet off on his own to do something ridiculously risky that, sure, ended up helping but _could_ have just as easily ended up with Tony a whole lot more dead. But he also knows that, even though what Steve means is _please be more careful,_ or _please let us help you,_ or _it makes me sick to think about what happens when you take a risk you won’t walk away from_ , what he says is, “well, Tony, maybe if you stopped to _think_ about something for once in your goddamn life we wouldn’t have to have this conversation over and over!”, and what Tony hears is _you fucked up, you_ **_always_ ** _fuck up, and now you’ve made me_ **_angry_ **.

The _other_ problem, of course, is that Tony doesn’t react well to people being angry. And, Clint knows, Tony _especially_ doesn’t react well to _Steve_ being angry. Clint’s not sure if that’s because Steve is fucking huge, and strong enough to bend steel with his bare hands, or if it’s because Tony maybe has a hard time seperating Steve from his father--because, sure, Tony’s never come right out and said anything, but Clint got kicked around enough as a kid to recognize the signs of it in someone else. So, Steve yells and Tony gets scared, except Tony’s had it drilled so far into him that _fear_ is a _weakness_ and is therefore entirely unacceptable that he twists it around to look like anger and instead of saying _please back up, I don’t feel safe with you in my space, I need to leave_ or _I did think it over, I know what I’m doing I just don’t know how to_ **_tell_ ** _people_ , or even _please just leave me alone right now_ , what he says is, “get _fucked_ , Rogers, I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit here and be lectured by your spangly, condescending ass.”

Steve takes a step forward, fists clenching in frustration and, would you look at that, now Tony’s back is pressed up against the wall in earnest. Clint shoots a glance to Natasha, sees the tightening around her eyes that means she also caught the full body flinch Tony tried to cover up as he stepped backwards, and he decides that enough is enough. At least for today. He looks over to Bruce, finding him almost completely slumped over the table--the Hulk always exhausts him, which honestly is probably for the best right now. Even without the risk of the Other Guy making another appearance so soon, Bruce’s temper can be formidable, and he hasn’t been taking kindly lately to people yelling at Tony.

See, Clint knows, Tony doesn’t like other people taking care of him, but the guy can’t stop himself from almost compulsively taking care of everyone else. So Clint casually stretches one leg forward, hooks a foot around the leg of Bruce’s chair, and yanks it to the left just enough to send Bruce tumbling to the floor with a loud _FUCK!_ Predictably, both Tony and Steve’s heads whirl around, Tony snaking out from the corner to come collect the still swearing lump of a physicist up from off the floor.

“For God’s sake, Brucie Bear, you’re supposed to give me a heads up _before_ you pass out so we can motor on home. Just look at you, all skin and bones--you clearly need about a million calories and a month long nap.”

“I didn’t pass out,” Bruce swats Tony’s hands away, but Clint doesn’t need to see the upward curve of his lips to hear how fond his voice is, “and how dare you lecture me on either of those things. When was the last time you ate _or_ slept, at all?”

“Genius never sleeps, Jolly Green, and what d’you mean, you just decided to throw yourself on the floor? Good lord, and they call _me_ attention seeking.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps over to lock on Steve, even as he mutters a dark, “ _who_ calls you that?”

“Oh, for--” Tony sighs, taking the momentary lapse in Bruce’s focus to reach down and grab him under the shoulders, hauling him upright with very little effort, and _wow_ Clint sometimes forgets just how strong Tony is, and just how well defined the muscles in his arms and shoulders are, even underneath the fabric of his shirt. And, look if Clint’s mouth goes a little dry at the reminder it’s just--it’s because he’s _impressed_ , okay, he’s not sitting over here harboring inappropriate thoughts about what those arms would look like without anything covering them, or what it would feel like to be pressed up against the table by that lean but _strong_ body, no sir, that would be _inappropriate_ for a multitude of reasons, and--

“Knock it off,” Tony’s voice is exasperated but clearly amused, and Clint’s heart freezes before he realizes that, no, Tony has not spontaneously developed the ability to read minds, and is in fact talking to Bruce. Natasha, on the other hand, knows exactly what he was thinking, if the barely there smirk she’s allowing him to see is any indication, and he makes a note to avoid her for the foreseeable future.

“I mean it, Bruce, put those nasty eyes away before you make Oh Captain Our Captain _cry_.” Tony’s keeping his voice light and teasing, but he’s still not quite managing to look at Steve--who looks, as he often does when Tony starts deflecting, like he has no idea what in the hell is going on--and he’s angling himself even as he helps support Bruce’s weight to keep himself in between Bruce and Steve, his entire body tensed as though he expects Steve to just haul off and attack one or both of them right that very second. Clint sighs because that--that’s not ideal. He and Natasha have both been trying to stay neutral, trying to keep themselves safe havens for both Steve and Tony to turn to, but this clearly isn’t an issue that’s going to resolve itself.

“Come on, Banner, are you gonna stand there and let him mother you to death right here, or can we go get something to eat?” Clint crosses the room to sling an arm around Bruce’s other side, leaning his weight into him just enough to make him stumble into Tony--mainly because it makes Tony laugh even as he uses his free hand to swat at Clint’s face in faux irritation, but also because, hey, Bruce is fun to irritate. Especially when there’s no risk of any large, green retaliation coming back his way. It does cause Bruce to shift his glare away from Steve and over to him, but Clint just gives his very cheekiest grin in return. He’s had a hell of a lot of people glare at him in his life, thank you very much, and he’s certainly not going to be cowed by Bruce.

He starts tugging at Bruce to lead them towards the door, because Tony obviously needs just a tiny bit more of an excuse to leave. Clint wonders, sometimes, how often _you do NOT run away!_ had been something Tony’s dad had hammered into him. Tony’s hesitation before stepping forward--and the quick, unsure glance he shoots Steve, as though not quite convinced he’s _allowed_ to leave--is gone almost too fast to be noticed. _Almost_ . He’s sure Steve doesn’t pick up on it, but he _knows_ Natasha sees it, and it says a lot about just how bone tired Bruce is that the only indication he noticed is the furrowed confusion of his brow, instead of open hostility to Steve.

Steve takes a step forward, brow furrowed but shoulders back and jaw clenched, and Clint doesn’t think he realizes just how much he looks like he’s preparing for a fight, for an all out _battle_. Tony notices right away, though, if the way his arm comes up across his chest--covering the light of the ARC reactor filtering through the cotton of his shirt--is any indication.

“Hold on, Tony, we need to--”

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Clint leans forward, grinning at Steve as he fights the urge to snap instead, “Bruce needs a ride home before he melts into a puddle on the floor. I mean, just imagine how hard it’ll be to clean that up from the carpet. Besides, there’s nothing that’s gonna change between now and tomorrow--you’ll still be an asshole in the morning, right, Tony?”

He’s expecting the shove he gets from Bruce at that, so he only stumbles instead of falling to the floor in an undignified heap, and he keeps his eye on Tony as Bruce shifts his hold and drags Tony out of the room. Clint’s relieved to see Tony snorting a laugh as he lets himself be towed along. Clint sends a lazy wave to Steve as he strolls along behind them, and he tries not to bristle as he feels Natasha’s assessing gaze on the back of his neck. He knows the almost clinical detachment she exudes is just as much a mask as Tony’s cutting banter and dazzling press smile--because it’s just so much safer to keep everyone capable of hurting you too far away to do any real damage--but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t on occasion rub him the wrong way when he’s on the receiving end of her loaded silences.

When he catches up to Tony and Bruce, Bruce is barely continuing to lead Tony by virtue of just stubbornly plowing forward despite his obvious exhaustion, and Clint knows Tony’s allowing himself to be led mainly because he has a bad habit of spoiling the physicist. Clint opts to ignore the cranky look Bruce gives him, and instead slips an arm under Tony’s to link their elbows as they walk.

“So,” Clint muses, pleased to see the open smile still on Tony’s face, “what movie should Bruce sleep through this afternoon.” Just a bit more tension bleeds out of Tony’s shoulders, and the fact that Tony trusts him enough to relax around him, even just a little bit, does funny things to Clint’s heart. Funny things which Clint will possibly examine at a later date in a very mature, soul searching kind of way, or--as is more his style--completely deny the existence of until future events and/or Natasha make such denial an impossibility.

“I dunno,” Tony ruffles a hand through Bruce’s curls, “what sort of soundtrack would you like to snooze to today?”

“I’m not a _child_ , okay, it’s not an inevitability that I’ll fall asleep as soon as we get home.”

Tony and Clint share a skeptical glance before Tony turns his attention back to Bruce, “you’re not going to fall asleep as _soon_ as we get back home, because you’re going to eat something first. _Then_ you’ll fall asleep, like any good toddler would.”

As Bruce grumbles something under his breath, Clint notes the way Tony seems to be favoring his right side, and one more thing about his argument with Steve clicks into place. Tony’s always extra defensive when he’s hurting. It’s on the tip of Clint’s tongue to ask about it, to make sure it’s nothing serious, but he forces himself to stay quiet and listen to the two geniuses bicker. To borrow a phrase of Tony’s, his trust issues have trust issues, and while the walls he builds and boundaries he sets may seem ridiculous and over the top, Clint’s got a feeling he actually has a pretty good reason for each and every one. Besides, Clint knows for goddamn certain that JARVIS isn’t going to sit on his metaphorical ass and let Tony keel over and die. Clint has to trust that if Tony had any major injuries, the AI wouldn’t have let him just stroll out of the armor.

In the meantime, Clint loudly clears his throat to alert Bruce and Tony that it is now time to pay attention to _him_ , please and thank you, “I vote for Jurassic Park. The first one.”

“Yes!” Tony bounces a little in excitement as they shuffle onto the elevator, almost dislodging Bruce, who definitely seems to have lost a little bit of his steam, “I am so on board with that. Oily Jeff Goldblum lounging on tables and dinosaurs running rampant are good for what ails you, right, Brucie Bear?”

Bruce grunts noncommittally, which Tony seems to take as affirmation as he nods at Clint. Clint smiles back, and decides that pussyfooting around Tony’s issues is probably going to end as badly as bulldozing through them. There’s gotta be a balance, right? So he takes a breath, and takes a plunge.

“So, next time you run off to save the day and shake your fist at death _again_ , tell me first, okay?”

He feels Tony tense right back up, watches his face smooth into the carefully controlled mask, and catches the little flash of hurt in his eyes before he shifts to stare straight ahead. But while he’s clearly almost completely pulled away emotionally, he leaves his arm linked with Clint’s, so Clint lets himself hope that he hasn’t yet fucked this up completely.

“Oh, another lecture, how _delightful_. And here I was getting worried that nobody was goi--”

“Hey, this ain’t a lecture. You obviously know what you’re doing, you don’t need me to micromanage you.” Tony’s gone silent, but he’s at least listening, so Clint keeps going, “look, I’m not asking you to get permission first, okay, I’m asking you to let me know so you can have _someone_ watching your back. Otherwise, what’s the point of being on a team? Besides, you always do the cool shit, I’m sick of missing out.”

Tony laughs at that, and Clint’s so relieved to see that even though Tony’s still stiff as a goddamn board, it’s a genuine smile. Soft around the edges, and just a little crooked--not the perfectly aligned, perfectly practiced smile he saves for when he doesn’t want people to know he’s uncomfortable.

Tony’s quiet for another long moment, but he finally looks back over at Clint as they approach the ground floor, “I’ll, uh, I’ll try to remember to clue you in next time, if it’s that important to you.”

Clint grins at him, a pleased little shiver running up his back at the smile he gets in return. He’s excited to see that, yes, Tony reacts _so_ much better to a casual, non-accusatory attitude, and he’s actually really damn proud of Tony for taking a chance and _trusting_ him despite what Clint knows his instincts are probably screaming at him, and most importantly he knows it’s important to not make a big deal out of it.

“Sweet! Anyway,” the elevator doors slide open, and Clint reaches around Tony to flick Bruce’s ear, startling him from where he seemed to have once again fallen halfway asleep, “depending on how long the big green baby naps for, we should totally watch The Fly after Jurassic Park. What better way to follow up sexy genius Jeff Goldblum than with literal rotting genius Jeff Goldblum?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, movies kind of become their thing, in between saving the world and trying not to fall apart and just getting used to having six very large personalities in each others’ space

Somehow, movies kind of become their  _ thing _ , in between saving the world and trying not to fall apart and just getting used to having six  _ very  _ large personalities in each others’ space--and hasn’t  _ that _ been a journey, one which Clint still isn’t entirely sure on how exactly it happened. Just that Tony casually mentioned having extra space and oh, what do you know, you guys all need somewhere to stay, how perfect and it would probably be nice to not be knocking around in that big old tower all by himself, anyway. And it all sounded so reasonable until they actually got there and discovered that each of their  _ spare rooms _ were larger than all of their previous living spaces  _ combined _ and, yeah, it’s great but it’s also weird. Thor’s probably the only one used to actually having other people around all the time, but he’s also the only one who’s consistently not there for long stretches of time.

So, they save the world, they try not to step on each others’ toes any more than necessary, and when things get too stressful, or too chaotic, or just  _ too much _ , Tony will bundle Clint and Bruce up on a couch he shoved into what has become Bruce’s lab, and one of them will pick out a movie--or, in the case of ties, JARVIS will pick something, which is almost always something about rogue AI destroying humanity because the bastard may be made up of code and wires but he’s got a damn good sense of humor. And Tony, sometimes, will throw himself onto the couch, taking up  _ way  _ more room than should be possible given how goddamn short he is. Or, sometimes, on days when Clint can see he’s feeling just a bit more fragile around the edges, Tony will flit around the lab, giving one excuse after another to cover up what Clint is pretty sure is a terrified certainty that  _ this  _ will be the time the door slams shut in his face and he’s kicked out of their little group. It breaks Clint’s heart more than a little--partly because this is Tony’s  _ home, _ he shouldn’t have to feel so uncertain about his welcome--but he feels that he and Bruce are starting to get pretty good at Tony wrangling, thank you very much, and they almost always manage to coax him back over. Especially since Clint knows how to fight sneaky, and loudly asking Bruce why he looks so sad always brings Tony running over.

Tonight’s a good night, which means that Clint dozes while Tony and Bruce squabble over a blanket in between picking apart equations that are  _ way  _ above Clint’s paygrade. Clint cracks one eye open when Tony pokes a calloused finger into his cheek, swatting at his hand with a poorly concealed grin when the asshole just digs it in a little harder. 

Tony mock scowls in return, but Clint’s a little distracted by the laughter evident in his eyes--which is a little embarrassing considering he’s a grown man and should be way over getting lost in someone’s eyes, even if they  _ are _ ridiculously gorgeous and expressive doe eyes.

“Clint, you’re gonna miss Alien--pay attention!”

He snorts a laugh, making a show of closing his eyes and slumping further down on the couch just to hear Tony’s indignant squawk. 

“I’ve already seen Alien.”

He’s met with matching looks of incredulity when he opens his eyes again to see why the conversation suddenly stopped, and he actually looks behind him just to make sure that,  _ yes _ , they are looking at  _ him _ like that.

“What, if I may be so bold, the fuck, my dudes?”

Bruce rolls his eyes as Tony turns his beseeching eyes towards him, seemingly at a loss for words--which Clint knows goddamn well is a  _ lie _ \--and reaches over to flick Clint on the side of the head.

“We’ve all seen Alien, that’s beside the point.”

Clint furrows his brow, not having to pretend confusion for this one, “and that point would be…?”

“Wait,” Tony is starting to look a little concerned, and Clint is starting to wonder if they’re fucking with him because he  _ still  _ doesn’t know what the problem could possibly be, “are you--do you not  _ like _ Alien?”

“What? Of course I like Alien, I just--”

“Oh, thank god!” Tony slaps a hand over Clint’s mouth, “For a second I thought Bruce and I would have to stop being friends with you. Now, stop talking before you ruin my opinion of you again.”

When Tony resists Clint’s efforts to pry his hand off his face, Clint does what any responsible, well-adjusted adult would do and bites his palm. He’s distracted by Tony’s flailing, and the loud, full body laugh he lets out as he tries to smack Clint in the face. Consequently, he forgets that while the Hulk always makes his presence known well before he appears, Bruce Banner is a sneaky motherfucker, and he takes a pillow to the face for his mistake.

“In space nobody can hear you scream, Clint, shut up.”

“That’s so rude--why don’t you tell Tony to shut up?”

I don’t know,” Bruce shrugs a shoulder, slinging an arm around Tony’s neck to pull him in close as the traitorous genius snickers, “I guess I like him better than you.”

“I’m your second favorite, though, right?”

He gets a real laugh out of Bruce with that, which he  _ definitely  _ counts as a win considering how locked down he always keeps himself--around anyone that’s not Tony, at least.

“Yeah, you’re a solid second.”

Clint cheers, flinging himself to crawl over Tony, grabbing Bruce’s face to plant an obnoxious, loud kiss on his cheek. Between Tony wriggling underneath him and Bruce pushing at him, he’s proud that he manages not to tumble completely off the couch. 

“Stop! I’m dropping you down the list, you’re the  _ worst _ !”

“Shut u--stop! Shut up!” Tony kicks out, half curling up on Bruce’s lap while pulling Clint down on top of himself like a blanket, “it’s my perfect warrior angel, pay attention to her.”

“What, did you have your sexual awakening to Ripley? Jeff Goldblum’s going to be so crushed to find out he wasn’t the only one.”

“ _ First  _ of all, asshole,” Tony pinches Clint in the side, but unlike him Clint is  _ not  _ ticklish and Clint  _ loves  _ how much that pisses him off, “Jeff Goldblum’s sexiest role was without a doubt Jurassic Park and I was fully awakened by the time that came out. Secondly, the great goddess Ripley surpasses silly things like sexuality. I wanted to  _ be  _ her.”

Bruce laughs, leaned back  _ just  _ far enough that Clint couldn’t steal the glasses off his face without getting up off of Tony, “honestly, I can see the similarities.”

Tony gasped, reaching up to Bruce’s face in both his hands, “my sweet, beautiful Bruce, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Hey,” Clint dug a finger into Tony’s hip, rewarded with a squeak and a full body twitch--and, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s never met an adult who’s this ticklish, or if he’s usually not so comfortable draping himself across other people--”what about last week when I told you if we were stranded on a desert island together I’d let you eat me?”

“Oh, you’re right, how could I have forgotten. Bruce, that’s  _ one  _ of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. Are you happy now, you brat?”

“Hmm, very much so.”

While Clint wasn’t lying when he said he liked Alien, he’s also legitimately worn out, and at some point Tony’s arms came up around him and rough, nimble fingers started fiddling with the hair at the back of his neck. Clint wasn’t even really sure whether it was something Tony was consciously doing or not, but it felt-- _ nice _ , and he was warm and secure and  _ safe  _ in a way he thinks he never got to experience before falling in with these weirdos. So he drifts off into sleep, lulled by Tony and Bruce’s soft murmuring as they talked about what could have been a scathing critique of fictional movie science or could have been tearing holes in the cutting edge of current known science and patching it back up with completely new ideas. 

He wakes with a start, and at first he’s not sure what’s actually wrong. But very quickly he notes Tony gone completely stiff and still beneath him, breaths coming in tight and  _ way  _ too quickly. He hears Bruce’s concerned voice asking a question and JARVIS saying something about vitals and as he’s shifting to get a better look at Tony’s face he sees John Hurt onscreen, laid out on a table clutching his chest and--

_ Clutching his chest _ .

The realization must occur to JARVIS at the same time it does to Clint, because the screen goes black and the lights come on before he can say  _ oh, fuck _ , and JARVIS starts up a soothing list of time, location, and weather as Clint immediately pulls back to get his weight up and off of Tony’s chest. 

“Tony?” There’s no change in Tony’s expression, breaths still fast and choppy and eyes clearly not tracking. “Tony, can you hear me, bud?”

He leans in, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder as Bruce goes to tilt his face up for a better look in his eyes, and the effect is  _ immediate _ . Tony’s gasp is the small, broken sound of someone who literally  _ can’t think  _ through the fear and doesn’t have enough oxygen to spare on extraneous noises, but the knee that connects with Clint’s stomach is solid as a fucking rock. He’s guessing there’s just as much force behind the fist Bruce takes to the windpipe, if the shocked, strangled sound he makes is any indication as he reels himself back. 

Clint’s legs are still a little tangled up in Tony’s, so he ends up on his ass when Tony throws himself onto the floor, fingers clawing at the ground as he desperately scrabbles to get away. Clint moves forward to check on Bruce--sticking to slow, gentle movements, hands in the air when Tony flinches backwards as far as he can from his spot shoved into the corner. 

Clint’s careful as he puts a hand on Bruce’s knee, not sure if he’s gasping because Tony’s got one hell of a right hook,  _ especially  _ when it’s landing square or in the throat, or if they’re about to have an appearance from the other guy on their hands. Clint knows Hulk would  _ never  _ hurt Tony on purpose, but the guy’s not always great at controlling things like structural damage, and a big ol’ hunk of concrete would kill either Tony or Clint just as easy as Hulk himself. And, he  _ knows _ , Bruce would never, ever forgive himself--or Hulk--if either of them got hurt. 

Bruce’s eyes are very much green and more than a little wild when he looks up, but the rest of him seems to be staying human. Clint knows Bruce has more control over the other guy than the world gives him credit for, especially now that Tony’s been so incessant about bugging him into actually opening a line of communication with his alter ego, but Clint still can’t help the breath of relief when Bruce nods his head with a hoarse  _ it’s okay, I’m okay _ .

More secure in the knowledge that at least this particular emergency isn’t about to go nuclear, Clint shifts his full attention to Tony. Who is tucked as tightly into the corner as he can possibly go, face buried in the knees drawn up to his chest, rocking himself back and forth just a little bit, and Clint can’t tell if he’s covering his ears or just gripping onto himself in some attempt at grounding, and he  _ doesn’t know what to do _ . He doesn’t know how to help, and he doesn’t know what’s going to end up just making things  _ worse _ and the terrified, gasping noises Tony’s making feel like they’re physically paining him. 

But he realizes he can still hear JARVIS’s calm, even voice, cycling through the date and the time and the weather and their location and he realizes, this isn’t the first time. This isn’t JARVIS just blindly reaching for anything he can do to try and help this has got to be--fucking protocol, or whatever word Tony would use. And he feels stupid as soon as he has that realization--Afghanistan was  _ years _ ago, and of course crawling out of a cave with a huge chunk of metal embedded in his chest would have left him with triggers--but more than that he just feels-- _ sad _ . Sad, and angry that Tony had to fight so hard to survive whatever they did to him during his captivity, and little sick that Tony’s been apparently having severe flashbacks and panic attacks often enough that JARVIS immediately knows what to do.

At the same time, that thought comforts him, just a little. Not that Tony’s been dealing with this shit, but that JARVIS  _ knows what to do _ . The AI is every bit as tenacious as his creator, and Clint has no doubt that if this was something that didn’t work, JARVIS would have abandoned it in favor of trying something else by now. So Clint settles himself on the floor as comfortably as he can while watching someone he’s really,  _ really  _ grown to care about fall apart, and squeezes Bruce’s knee in what he hopes is a comforting manner, leaning into the hesitant hand Bruce places on his shoulder in return. 

“He’s okay.”

Clint’s a little embarrassed at the way he jumps at the sound of Bruce’s voice, but he shakes it off quickly.

“Yeah, I know. It just--it--”

“It sucks?”

Clint laughs a little at that, nodding his head as he leans a little more heavily into Bruce’s legs, “yeah. Yeah, it sucks.”

It takes a few minutes--although each second ticking by certainly feels much,  _ much _ longer--but Tony finally starts to relax. His hands come down from around his face, arms wrapping around his knees as his body stops its frantic back and forth movements. His breathing slowly starts to even out, until Clint starts to suspect that he’s continuing to hide his face more from embarrassment than fear. 

“Tony?” And, god, sometimes Clint is so thankful for Bruce’s background as a doctor, because he’s got the voice down pat--soft, concerned, but no judgement, and more importantly no  _ pity _ .

“That’s me,” Tony’s laugh is shaky and just a little ragged, but Clint figures it’s important for him to feel like he can get at least some of those walls of his back up, to dredge up even just a little false confidence.

Clint scoots forward slowly, waiting for a flinch or any sign that Tony’s getting freaked out by increased proximity, and when none comes he resettles in front of Tony, just the tips of his feet bumping up against Tony’s leg. He knows that Tony loves nothing more than being wrapped up by people he trusts, but he also knows that he needs it to be  _ his  _ choice. Trying to force too much physical contact on Tony when he’s already feeling off kilter never fails to have him closing himself off so fast you can practically hear the metaphorical door slam. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clint keeps his voice soft and low, trying to model Bruce’s tone.

“Sure don’t.”

He’s expecting the answer, so he just nods and lets Tony continue to try and pull himself together.

“Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I am  _ fine _ , I don’t need y--”

“I know you don’t,” Clint cuts him off, letting the harsh, angry tone wash over him. He knew how much Tony hated showing any sign of weakness in front of people, much less having a full blown flashback. “I know you don’t  _ need _ help from any of us. I’m asking if there’s anything you would  _ like  _ for me to do for you.”

He scoots over as Bruce comes to settle next to them, carefully ensuring that they’re sitting to the side of Tony, keeping the escape route clear and open. The last thing Tony needs is to feel like he’s being caged in by them.

Tony’s face finally comes up from where he’s had it hidden behind his knees, and the look on his face would seem furious and dismissive if Clint hadn’t been getting adept at seeing the fear and the  _ pain _ that so often masked. 

“It’s not your fucking  _ job  _ to take care of me, Barton. I’m a big boy, I’ll be  _ fine _ .”

Bruce tilts his head to the side, one side of his mouth quirking up in a small, sad sort of grin, “you know, I have it on good authority that this is what friends are for.”

Tony shifts his glare towards Bruce, huffing out an irritated sigh, “don’t use my words against me, Banner, that’s rude.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

Clint can see Tony trying to ratchet up his glare, but Bruce just gives him that same gentle smile, and that right there--that ability to just be  _ calm  _ and know when someone needs space to work through it, not pushing while refusing to be pushed away--it’s one of the things Clint admires most about Bruce. And, he thinks, it’s probably one of the biggest reason that he almost immediately began to get along so well with Tony.

“This is different.”

“How so?” Tony opens his mouth and Bruce shakes his head, narrowing his eyes, “and don’t say because it’s you, that’s not a valid answer and I won’t accept it.” 

“Oh, you won’t?”

“Nope.” 

One of these days, Clint is going to get Bruce to teach him how he does that calm and unflappable smile so goddamn well. Tony continues to stare at them with narrowed eyes, looking more like he’s trying to wait them out, wait for them to get bored and throw their hands up and walk away, rather than actually being angry. 

And that look always,  _ always  _ makes Clint want to track down each and every person who ever did turn their back on him, every person who made Tony think it was such an inevitability that he’s not  _ worth  _ the trouble of sticking around for. But those people aren’t here right now--and more than a few of them, Clint knows, are already dead--so Clint settles for pushing his feet in a little more firmly against Tony’s legs and wiggling his toes, relieved at the irritated little scowl that earns him as Tony pushes against his knees.

“ _ Gross _ , get your nasty little bird toes off of me.”

“Massages are relaxing, Tony, I’m just trying to help,” Clint makes sure to keep his expression as over the top innocent as he physically can, and he’s rewarded by a laugh as Tony swats at his feet as though they were particularly irritating bugs. It’s still a shaky laugh, quiet and just a little unsure, but it’s progress.

“I’d rather get a massage from Hulk, keep your filthy feet to yourself.”

“What, pray tell, do you think that I’m doing with my feet that they would be so fucking dirty?”

“Clint,” and, god, Bruce’s little ‘I’m being absolutely serious you guys I am a respected physicist this is no laughing matter’ troll face was possibly even more impressive than his bedside manner, “we don’t want to know what kinds of things you do with your feet. There are some things human sanity simply is not built to withstand.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Tony and Clint glance at each other and both burst out laughing, Bruce joining them a second later. And this time, Tony’s laugh is a  _ lot  _ closer to genuine, his posture relaxing just a little bit, and Clint feels his own panicked heart rate finally starting to come down as well.

“Oh, god, Bruce, stop making me imagine Clint doing depraved things with his feet while they’re fucking touching me!”

Clint snickers as he slides his feet up Tony’s legs, using his toes to ‘crawl’ up until Tony managed to knock him away. Clint notes that Tony shifts, letting his knees come down, starting to look just a little less like a fortress. 

“You’re a monster, Clint, a goddamn  _ monster _ .”

Bruce scoots himself over to sit next to Tony, checking to make sure that Tony’s okay with someone in his space and leaning in to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder when Tony makes room for him. 

“Feeling better?”

Tony nods, turning in towards Bruce and letting himself be folded in to a loose hug, “seriously, it’s fine. No big deal, I’m just--y’know, sorry to freak you guys out.”

Clint snorts a laugh, “dude, I’ve seen Bruce’s naked ass more times than I can count at this point, it takes more than that to freak me out.” 

“Hey, that jolly green ass is a privilege to behold, and you’ll show it some respect.” 

It’s silent for a moment, Clint watching Bruce and Tony and trying to figure out if it would be a bad idea to wriggle himself in there, until Bruce rolls his eyes with a sigh and reaches out. Clint’s not quite sure what his goal is until there’s a hand wrapped around his wrist, dragging him in and forcefully rearranging everyone until Tony is snugly in between the two of them. Bruce shakes his head over Tony’s head, Clint’s cheeks burning as he refuses to even try and decode what that  _ look _ he’s getting could possibly mean.

“You look like somebody’s kicked puppy, stop it.”

Clint can already see the guilty look on Tony’s face, and has no doubt that Tony’s hard at work trying to make this all his fault somehow, so he leans in close and stage whispers, “Bruce has been bullying me lately, it’s turning into a toxic work environment.”

Tony laughs again, turning to bury his head in the crook of Clint’s shoulder--and now Clint is having to try really,  _ really  _ hard to keep from understanding the looks Bruce is giving him as he feels himself almost subconsciously bringing one hand up to rest on the back of Tony’s neck.

“So,” Clint murmurs, “you figure out what we can do for you, yet?”

Tony huffs a tired laugh, tugging Bruce’s arm until he’s curled around Tony’s back as he gets more comfortable against Clint, “honestly? This is--this is good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so remember when I had every intention of working on this regularly and then suddenly five months went by?? Depressive episodes are a bitch y'all, and I'm going to be trying to work on the next chapter the next few weeks so fingers crossed! Comments are a wonderful motivator so feel free to share your ideas!


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